Turbulent Waters
by HottahSpots
Summary: It was intimidating and uncomfortable for people. I was intimidating and uncomfortable to people. She was roughly eight inches shorter than me so I easily towered over her lithe form. Yet she didn’t seem to mind it that much.
1. The End

**Disclaimer: Do not own ****N****ewsies**

**Part 5**

**Ni****cks POV age-17**

I felt warm arms wrap around me, hugging tightly as fresh, fiery tears escape from closed lids. How could someone be driven to commit such an act? Were my feelings worth so little to him that they weren't even considered? Did he even spare a passing thought of me to be thrown away with any self worth I had once possessed? Obviously he hadn't cared that I would end up with hurt aching through my entire body. My need to hate him weighing down on my shoulders as my heart reached and longed for him to tell me it had never happened.

One of the strong arms uncoiled from around my body and I felt the warmth of my companion pull away slightly. I opened my eyes to look up at Spot and ducked my head down to avoid his gaze on my tear streaked face preferring to soak his shirt with them instead. He softly caught my chin with a gentle hand and nudged it back up. Ink stained hands dried my tears.

The brief safety I found within his eyes was lost again-- torn from me in a trembling that started deep within the shreds of my heart. Everything was completely incomprehensible again. He had hurt me. The scene played over and over again in my mind. I kept trying to think of ways to make it better. Anything to assuage the hurt. I grabbed back onto Spot and buried my face into his chest. He accepted my actions simply by holding me. For every ounce of comfort I demanded of him I found given to me without qualm. Small soothing sounds issued from somewhere above my head and a hand came up to softly stroke my hair.

My Spot, the little dot in my life that grounded me in the great expanse of nothingness we lived through- the one person that was there at the end no matter how things began. The period at the end of my psychotic run-on-sentence.

The scene started over again. My breath suddenly seemed shallow and insufficient- short, clipped sobs weren't enough. My vision blackened around the edges. Everything was so hard. I wasn't strong enough and felt far too tried. I'd been tried and failed and now everything was wrong. I just couldn't handle it anymore and let myself go. No need to hold on anymore.

The encompassing arms repositioned so that one was around my shoulder and the other had found my hand. The soft wind chilled my tear ridden cheeks as the cotton of his shirt pulled away. I made a small movement to return to its comfort. The slight tilt of my head was ignored as he began to lead me forward. My unseeing eyes didn't register the passage of space. The world was a bleak collage of black, brown and grey. Every now and then an intense, red streak of betrayal passed across my vision. My breath would hitch, my foot would stumble and for a single moment I would feel. The pain was a thousand times worse than the numbness.

He must have assumed that I was in no state to attempt stairs and cradled me into his arms. I wouldn't have noticed if his arms hadn't suddenly become a warm, soothing cloud. I burrowed into his shirt allowing it to catch my fear and pain while I allowed the world to pass simply around me.

At some point the strength and relief I received from him was gone. A flat pillow under my head and a scratchy wool blanket over me gave little comfort in his absence.

I mourned the loss of his reassuring presence.

A boy older than myself with fiery red hair spoke to me in one of my more lucid moments. He insisted I eat and tried to assure me Spot would come back. I didn't believe him. Spot had left me too. The comfort he had provided the night before began to feel like a lie.

Twilight descended on Brooklyn and the usually rowdy lodging house seemed quiet and eerie. The weight in my chest shifted from sorrow of ache to a sorrow of deficiency. My silent, numb world was suffocating me. I shed the blanket abruptly and stumbled down the stairs toward the open air of the street.

Down the Brooklyn cobblestones he walked with an even gait as a tall, lean, swaggering figure. Blood trickled from his swollen lip and street light illuminated the night colored bruises on his chest. He wore no shirt but carried a torn rag that had once been tear-stained. Chilly grey eyes met mine once they were close enough. I jumped the last few steps and threw my arms around him.

Open arms took me in and held me safe. Safe despite the turbulent emotions filtering through and opening up my numbed senses. Had I really loved him? Had my feeling been real or the notion that I needed to have someone? Everyone had someone. Had I just been following the crowd? Had I been blinded by lust and physical need to have someone to hold me? Were the simple 'I love you's all my imagination?

I hated him so much in that moment. Hated that he had done this to me. Made me question every little feeling running through my fatigued heart. I couldn't stand how much I just wanted to cry again. I hated how much he made me hate myself. So I clung to Spot. I didn't know what else to do anymore.

I looked up into his cool grey eyes. Cold and unfeeling some people called the eyes of Brooklyn himself. As our gazes connected all I could see was love and compassion. Those stormy eyes stole my heart away where he would keep it safe as long as I wanted him to.

I realized in that moment that it didn't matter. I had my best friend there to help me through it. I knew for a fact that I loved him and that's all that matter. I loved Spot Conlon. He'd been fighting for my heart since before Skittery had shredded it and was would wait for me while it healed. He could hold my hand and help me navigate till I was ready to give him everything I had thought I wanted to give Skittery.

**Well in a sudden bout of need to continue my old stories I've decided to rewrite or creatively edit them starting here. Now I wrote the beginning of this story four years ago when I was fourteen and a much less mature writer and had some strange ideas about what fourteen and fifteen year olds should be up to. I'll probably edit more than just the writing style in this which is why I've decided to post the rewritten version as a completely separate story. Th****is version will probably have ****more depth to it but will still be hopelessly romantic.**


	2. The Beginning

**Part 1****(four**** years earlier than chapter 1**

**Spot's POV age-15**

She apologized too much. It drove me crazy. I'd tease her about the smallest thing and instead of playing back she'd apologize. It was insipid and intolerable. I'm not sure how I put up with it as long as I did. I took another swig of my drink and tried to pretend she'd never happened. In the long run it didn't really matter if she did. No one really cared if the girl on my arm changed every other week. The other boys were actually coming to expect it.

The fact that that girls were starting to flock to me more left me with more than enough to go through. Go through is a horrible way to describe it but it's how I'm starting to feel. They're pretty and fun but then I get bored or annoyed and they're gone.

It's how much attention Caveman's been paying to me lately. Rumors have started to flow through the tributaries of the Brooklyn information system. I could be the next leader after Cave. The thing I like most about Cave is how he's a good leader. The kind of good leader that doesn't hurt you if you don't deserve it. The leader before Caveman hadn't been so kind. Not that I didn't deserve to be beat down now and again but Cave only does it when I have really done something to merit it. Which is fairly frequently; it's my personality. I piss a lot of people off.

I was pulled out of my own personal contemplations of women with an appreciation of men in charge by a voice hawking the headlines. I glanced towards the door and was startled by the sight of a young blonde, waving an evening edition of the World in the air. Her voice soared over the noise and clatter of the boisterous pub and had a certain honesty and innocence to it. My eyes were immediately drawn to hers and from that single look we recognized something very significant.

She wasn't a Brooklyn, shouldn't be selling here and knew it. I was a Brooklyn, knew that she wasn't and shouldn't be selling here. A combination like that could only result in someone getting hurt. The round faced blonde couldn't have been older than thirteen and was very skinny. If a fight came down to it we both knew I'd win.

I found myself crossing the expanse between us very quickly and watched as she began to make a run for it. Unfortunately for her a large, greasy haired factory worker was just crossing the threshold of the door as she attempted to leave through it. That second of hesitation was all I needed to close the gap, grip her arm and maneuver her into a corner.

"Are you trying something," She said pushing me away and trying to wrestle out of my grasp on her arm. She was so thin I could feel the bone easily under my fingers. There was no way she was going to get free if I didn't want her to. I let go but didn't allow her to push me out of her space.

"No," I'm not sure why I felt the need to defend myself. The next leader of Brooklyn didn't have to defend his actions. However any machismo I had was quickly squished by the boy who once went to church with his mother. "Brooklyn boys have morals too you know."

She snorted in disbelief and relaxed a bit. I stood still just short of pressed up against her. It was intimidating and uncomfortable for people. I was intimidating and uncomfortable to people. She was roughly eight inches shorter than me so I easily towered over her lithe form. Yet she didn't seem to mind it that much. The thing I found most fascinating from my point of view was her green eyes as they glanced me over trying to figure me out.

"Are you drunk?" She said slowly tasting the words for more meaning.

"Are you stupid?" I drawled in a similar manner.

Her lips tightened into a line. I was mocking her and she knew it. The whole situation suddenly seemed almost comical. I couldn't help but chuckle.

"Look girl," I said with a smug grin. "I don't know what you think you're doing selling in Brooklyn but it's just not healthy. You ain't one of us then you're stealing our work and we don't like that. We watch out for us and ours."

"No one from Brooklyn sells in here."

"I'm in here."

"You're not selling. You're buying."

"You don't know that." I hissed trying to find my point somewhere. It seemed I had misplaced it.

She lifted her nose and took a whiff.

"The alcohol smell is fairly convincing." She paused with the confidence of someone who had the upper hand and only paused to illustrate it. "And I know for a fact that Caveman would whop any one of his boys he caught drinking while selling. Brooklyn has to keep up an image after all."

"I know what Cave would do to a little girl like yourself if he found out what you've been up to." Her bright green eyes widened in horror as I spoke but that just gave me a clearer view of how her mind was whirring to try to regain control of the conversation.

"Cave wouldn't soak a girl. And it's just a few extra papes in the evening. Really it ain't that big of a deal. You're the only Brooklyn I ever seen in here." Her voice was desperate and pleading. This spot must mean a lot to her survival.

I sighed. If I had enough spare change to grab a couple of beers when I wanted to then who was I to deny her the extra coins to buy another meal? I knew what it meant to live on the streets. There was no point in being heartless.

"Who you under?" I asked finally.

"Manhattan," She played with her papers as she said it. Small, ink stained and dirty fingers sliding across rough paper and embossed letters to finally settle on the front page headline. "Large Standing Stone at Stonehenge Falls Over". She looked ready to fall over.

"What're you doing all the way down here in Brooklyn then?"

She shrugged and made a sound with the same number of syllables as "I don't know."

"I mean other than trying to start a territorial war," I couldn't help but smirk. She wasn't amused. The glare coming of the girl wasn't encouraging for my sense of humor. It wasn't just in her eyes either. It came off her whole being. Similar to the way heat comes off a radiator. If you're close enough it can't be ignored. With all that heat it wasn't surprising to see the slight blush to her cheeks.

"What do you think you're doing!" An iceberg of a woman demanded with a none too kind jab to my chest and placing herself distinctly between me and the blonde. Despite being not much younger than me, she was very much a woman—tall and flawless with dark features, caramel skin and curves ripped off an hourglass. She could have stolen my breath and injured my heart without trying to impale me on those elegant hands.

Where the blonde exuded heat, the brunette seemed to soak in all the warmth from the exuberant room. She drew attention and I was gone in those gelid, dark eyes. "You giving my friend trouble," that voice was like falling through thin ice to a frigid, December torrent.

"He's threatening to give us trouble over selling here." Said the blonde somewhere beyond the brunette pulling my head up above the water.

She didn't say anything—just looked at me with an eyebrow raised. It was a challenge. Who cares what my real intentions were at the moment. I may be intending to let them have the spot but they didn't need to know that just yet. You don't challenge the next leader of Brooklyn over territory and expect me to just hand it over. People like me have an image to uphold.

I raised an eyebrow of my own in response and hefted my cane up into my hand making it more visible and the treat very obvious. A smirk set onto lips and a hard look in my eyes I jerked forward a little bit hoping to make her flinch. She didn't but those cold eyes could show fear enough. "You little birdies gonna fight back?"

"Spot Conlon," the ice woman said simply eyeing the gold tipped cane in my hand. She took a half step back almost into her friend as the blonde went crisom. Manhattan is close enough they should know my name even if they don't know my face. I'm sure the fight I'd gotten into two weeks before was running through their minds.

"Yeah," I said slowly through my smirk. "And who are you?"

"Nick," the crimson blonde had moved so she was next to her friend. The color was beginning to lessen in her cheeks as her courage began to strengthen a little. Naivety could easily be confused for bravery.

"Icy," said the older girl meeting my eye and once again trying to assert herself between Nick and me. The name fit well. "You gonna tell Caveman about us?"

I looked them both over for a second. The Brooklyn newsies weren't going to give them any trouble here. I was the only one who ever went to this pub and it was never to sell. Someone might as well rip off the drunks. The danger comes from the men here that aren't newsies. Icy had shown that she could take care of them both well enough. There would be men that she couldn't protect them from though. Well it wouldn't hurt if I stopped in now and again to check up on them. A good beer never went amiss.

"No."

"Don't mess with us!" Icy hissed. "Spot Conlon doesn't just let people go."

I laughed. Really laughed. She was so indignant about thinking I was going to let Cave and the boys go at her. Most people don't question when I choose not to beat them. They assume some miracle has occurred and run with it. There was something slightly off with this girl. It was living on the streets. Carrying the banner. It messed with people's minds and fucked with their ability to believe.

"What do you think?" I asked looking over at Nick. There was a hint of fear behind the defiant look in her eye.

"It doesn't hurt Brooklyn if we sell here. Why should you go to Caveman? Leave us be." The little blonde smiled at me, gaining confidence as she spoke. I just looked at her as she spoke. No encouragement or discouragement. Just let her say her piece out.

"Selling isn't safe in Brooklyn for a pair of girls. I don't care who you are." Icy looked ready to protest. I shrugged. "It's your choice."

I headed back to the counter, paid Sean and left.

It didn't really surprise me when I came in a week later to find Icy and Nick conning some poor, pissed drunk sailor, fresh off the boat, into buying half of their combined papers. He couldn't take his eyes of Icy as Nick managed to sweet talk their way into his thin wallet. It was genius. Play to your strengths.

I sell to regulars. Mr. Collins. Mrs. Thompson. Dr. Flynn. I have hundreds of them that can always find me at the right spot at the perfect time depending on their personal schedules. If there was one thing I could count on in my life it's that people in Brooklyn associate me with newspapers. You want a newspaper Spot Conlon is the kid to go to.

Nick saw me before Icy did. She may not have Icy's stunning looks but she certainly wasn't going to let anyone catch her off guard. As Icy began to flirt with the robbed sailor, Nick made her way over to find a seat. I followed her to the table and stretched back, taking a seat and idling tapping my cane against the foot of the crude chair. I may have been sitting at her table but she didn't acknowledge me. She was looking right past me towards what I assumed was their next victim.

"Getting into trouble?" I asked looking right at her. The quickest way to create steam is to throw water right onto the fire.

"Here and there," she replied mildly. It was several minutes after her reply that she finally turned to look at me. "Trying to keep out of it mostly."

I nodded. It was easy to understand.

"Come to bring us bad news?" Those green eyes met mine with an intensity that was hard to forget. I saw it every morning in those grimy, cheap mirrors at the lodging house. It was always well hidden before I hit the streets.

"No," I smirked and pulled out a cigarette to light up. "Just here to relax, drink a beer and enjoy the company."

Nick's eyes rounded on the disreputable pub. The cloud of smoke created a haze around the room—almost dreamlike when you'd had enough to drink. You began to believe that your real life was only a nightmare to wake up from. Tan paint was peeling off the wall closest to us and an idle drinker was picking at it. Farther into the room, a group of boisterous factory workers joked with each other. A brash redhead was up on a twisted, pine table declaring his undying love to the plainest of the maids—much to the amusement of his fellows and the displeasure of Sean. Sean was running up and down the bar trying to fill orders and yelling at someone to get the young man down. Her eyes lingered on Sean for a second before swinging around to meet green with grey.

"Haven't had the beer and can't say much for the company." She leaned forward, elbows on the knotted wood and rested her dirt smudged face on stained hands.

I observed her without reaction.

"Can't be that bad if you keep coming back,"

"Me and Icy can make some extra money here is all," She glanced back at Icy as she spoke. The dynamic, dark haired girl had found her way into the lap of sailor.

"Hey Nicolai," I said trying to regain her attention to offer her my cigarette.

"Just Nick," she replied taking the cigarette from my hand, lifting it to her mouth and inhaling. She coughed for a minute before handing it back to me. "I nicked two bits off Varick my first week in Manhattan."

"And you're still selling there?" I asked with mixed incredulity and amusement. I knew Varick. He was just as tough as Caveman. You didn't get to be leader of a territory without the guts to defend it.

She laughed again filling our small bubble of haze with a dim light. "I met Blink later that same day and he set me up at the lodging house. Life got so much better so fast I felt bad about stealing it. Varick became a little bit like an older brother to me. I told him about it and paid him back. He was so pissed at first, but then he just laughed it off. Called me Nick ever since."

I laughed. That was so like Varick. The man may be just as tough as Cave but would so much rather drink his opponent under the table instead. He was the perfect leader for Manhattan.

"What about Spot?"

I shook my head. There was no way I was telling that story.

"I told you how I got my name." She pouted. That bottom lip jutting forward just a little bit and the crease in her forehead letting me know she wasn't pleased. It was kind of cute.

I shook my head again and smirked.

"Hey Nicky," Icy stuttered, stumbling out of nowhere to rest an arm on the younger girl's shoulder. The reek of alcohol flowed over to where I sat. When she spoke again it was slow and clearly quite difficult. "I'm not coming back ta the, the, the house sweets. But I see ya tomato… at the dist, distribution offeece."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea Ice," Nick said as the darker skinned girl staggered away from her towards the young man waiting at the door. She sighed once her friend was out of sight, looked back at me and leaned over to take my cigarette out of my hand.

"See ya," she whispered leaving with my cigarette between her lips. I heard violent coughing just as she would have slipped out the door behind me.

Over that year Nick and Icy were in the pub at least two or three times a week. They were probably in there more but I wasn't.

I stepped briskly through the street considering going up to see them that night as the drizzle of rain fell over me. No newsie wants to get caught in the rain. It was bad enough getting one of your only shirts wet but even once you had a dry one on it took forever to get warm again. Not to mention it made the ink run on your papers. I'll swim the same as any Brooklyn but I've never had much fondness of water. I was beginning to feel like my day could only get worse when a redhead wearing the blue and green of the punks that soaked one of our younger boys a week ago.

Caveman had declared war over it and that gave me the freedom to whop any of them that I saw. It was quite liberating to know that I wouldn't get in trouble with Cave for beating up people I shouldn't.

The kid was a year or two older than me and seemed to just fast enough to keep out of my reach. I was just about to insult his mother to get him to turn around when I saw we were headed to the docks. Caveman had a few newsies with him but not nearly enough to hold off the enemy. The crimson soaked shirts stood out against the blue-green of their opponent—a single drop of blood surrounded by the unstoppable current of the ocean. I immediately grabbed my slingshot and began pelting them with the cheap shooters from my pocket.

It wasn't enough. I had gotten there just in time to see the kid Cave was fighting pull a knife. He had the muscles of the boys who work in the ship yards and was quickly starting to overpower our leader. I immediately turned my full attention to aiming my shooter into his ears. I took a certain pride from nearly making one full time a part of his scalp.

They must have been causing him as much pain as they caused me joy because he turned to order someone to get rid of me. Caveman gave me the briefest acknowledgement before taking advantage of the boy's temporary inattention.

I didn't have time to watch the fight proceed any further as several gang members rushed on me. Luckily someone had gotten word out to the rest of Brooklyn and newsies were beginning to pour in balancing the sides. Flame, Basic and Sponsor were competing to see who could give the most shiners. If the blacked eyed boy I'd been fighting had been a newsie I would have sworn he was in on the competition. He kept going for my eyes. I took him out with a punch to the gut and a whack over the head with my cane.

Turning to challenge the next idiot I heard the harsh clop of hooves against cobblestones alerting us of the police. They couldn't arrest all of us. Gang kids and newsies were running together. To scared of arrest to continue the feud. There's always that one vindictive child. It's usually me but in this fight a green, blue sleeve flashed in my vision before I was heading face fight into the street. I grabbed his ankle just before my face became intimately acquainted with the ground. He got back up. I watched my mentor get stabbed.

I watched the sticky blade slip out of his abdomen as the bastard went for another strike. They were so close to the edge of the dock. I could see his feet slipping out from under him on the slick, wet, wooden board. His hands grabbed for the shirt of the other boy and they both toppled down into the water.

Then I watched in horror as he struggled to the surface for air; my heart stood still.

The autumn cold waters rushed past him quickly pulling him down. His was body weak from the fight and the fresh stab wound gushing warm blood into the chilled water. Caveman had never always loved the water; I prayed that he wouldn't have to leave us through it. The mighty dragon like water wrapped its vicious claws around him. The rabid grasp pulled him under again then let him back up again, again, teasing us that he might make it to the next day. Then there was that final time he went under. I kept expecting him to pull himself up over the dock at any moment. He didn't.

Someone had pulled me to my feet at some point and was urging me to keep running. We had to get back to Lodging house. I had to tell them what had happened. No gang was ever going to pull a stunt like that while I was leader. It was my territory. I owned Brooklyn. I am Brooklyn.


End file.
